Parry, Riposte
by NoMoreJacksPlz
Summary: One-shot. Simon reacts rashly when he finds Mal in Inara's bed. Simon/Inara history implied.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally posted this in 2007 for a fic challenge and am reposting here now that I have an account here. Enjoy! :)

* * *

"Inara, what would you think about you, me, and an excursion to --"

Simon Tam stopped short as his eyes took in the scene in Inara's shuttle: the companion, pulling her robe tight and tying its satin belt; the lazy curl of smoke as sticks of sweet, woody incense burned low; and _Serenity_'s captain, naked save for the discreet covering of a thin sheet, lying in Inara's bed.

For a brief moment, Simon felt the earth lurch beneath his feet, and he wavered as his knees fought to keep his legs straight and his body upright. "Oh. Oh, God," he said as the blood drained from his lips and began to pound in his temples. He staggered backward, his body unable to turn from the sight before him, his eyes unable to look away from the truth he had wanted to avoid. "The door was unlocked. I thought...."

"Simon," Inara said, rushing after him, "Simon, wait. I can explain."

His hand found the cold button that opened the door to her shuttle. He pressed it and heard the soft hiss as the door slid open. "I'm sorry. So sorry. So sorry," he rambled, avoiding eye contact.

"Simon, it's not --" She put her hand on his forearm, but he slipped out of her grasp.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, and escaped.

******

"Where are you going?" River asked, watching Simon as he rifled through his drawers, his hands flying with a manic energy, wanting to turn over, turn under, dig through. The answer was motion. Just stay in motion.

"Out," he replied. "I need to go out for a while."

"Why?" his sister asked.

"I just -- I just do," he told her. "Now stay here, and please don't terrorize Jayne. He's big and dumb and doesn't understand your jokes."

"Your dish is not cold," River called to his back as he strode away.

******

The Silver Spur was typical of Outer Rim establishments: dirty, noisy, and filled with people who didn't have all their teeth. Watery pint in hand, Simon wobbled back to the unobtrusive corner he'd claimed for himself.

He dropped heavily into the booth and stared at the collection of empty tumblers in front of him. The glass in his hand was dull and cloudy, and he could see a greasy thumbprint smudged the other side. He glanced around the bar and noticed a patron biting into a slimy mutton sandwich and chasing it with a ten-second-long draught of ale in a similar tumbler. Simon looked back at his own glass and shuddered, then picked it up and drank until he was gasping for breath. He grimaced at the drink's cutting bitterness, but it was what he needed. Deserved. He needed this, this punishment.

He should have known better. He should have known better, and he was an idiot for thinking he stood a chance with Inara. For thinking he was special to her the way she was special to him. For thinking their night was a memory, a real memory, not a charitable write-off, a good deed for the year. For thinking she was finally over Mal.

The tumblers seemed to dance on the table as he fought to keep his eyes open. His head hadn't felt this leaden since his first year of MedAcad. Those had been some good times.

"You're too pretty to be all alone," a voice said as a shadow fell over him.

Simon looked up to see a woman with wild red hair and a face shaped like a spade, tapering to a point at her chin. At one time she had probably been considered pretty, but time and experience had worn away her newness. A rancher's daughter, most likely, used to coming to the Silver Spur to relieve boredom and an unbridled libido.

"Is this seat taken?" the woman asked. Simon dumbly shook his head no, and the room wobbled like a ship at sea. He was going to have one hell of a headache in the morning.

She slid into the booth next to him, and a current of electricity rippled through him as her hand brushed his arm lightly. So he wasn't completely dead, after all.

"You looked like you could use some company," the woman said.

"And you're offering?" Simon asked, his tongue feeling thick. His head was sending the words, but his mouth was having a hard time pronouncing them.

"If you'll let me," the woman said. The faint scent of spice tickled his nose, and he breathed in. Her perfume was thin and cheap and reminded him of the sort of girls who lurked in the alleys on Osiris, the ones his parents despised and his friends whispered furtively about. The woman before him was no different, but away from the civilization that had always kept him in check, her primitive charms stirred a temptation within him that he'd always rejected previously.

"I don't usually talk to strangers," he slurred, and the woman laughed.

"We don't have to be strangers," she said, tracing his cheek with her hand.

His body reacted, and he let himself simmer in it. Her rough hands felt nothing like Inara's soft touch, but it mattered little to the bruises he'd suffered.

"Then I should know your name," he managed to say.

She laughed again. "Yours first."

"Simon. Simon Tam. I'm a doctor." He barely recognized the words falling out of his mouth as she continued to stroke his cheek. "A very good doctor. I do surgeries sometimes. And stitches. Lots of stitches. Too many stitches. I'm like a gorram seamstress. I think I need a surgical thimble." A giggle escaped him, and he suddenly remembered: "But what's your name?"

A mischievous grin slid over her face. "Come closer, and I'll tell you."

"You promise?"

"Of course."

He inched forward, since any greater movement made the earth spin. As her face came closer, he found himself unable to focus on anything but her plump red mouth. She angled her head to whisper in her ear, and the next thing he knew, her lips were on his, hot and hungry, and in his haze he responded in kind, abandoning himself to the call of his flesh.

******

Her room was plain, the wallpaper old and faded, the four-poster bed in need of a good varnish, but sturdy.

She moved slowly in his lap, making sure he didn't miss a sensation. Her fine breasts, destined to lose to gravity as she aged, kept his hands busy when they weren't exploring the curve of her back or the swell of her generous backside. Sweat lent a sheen to her face as she drove them to greater heights, with the detached expertise that was the result of vast experience. He knew that to her, he was just a face among many, but he pushed the thoughts from his head and closed his eyes, letting her take what she wanted. It was enough to be needed. When he could no longer bear her torture, he delighted her by throwing her on her back and taking her with a ferocity she hadn't anticipated. She shook in his arms, and he fell, spent and empty, beside her.

Afterward, he lay awake and tried to ignore the dinginess of the room and the shabby blanket that covered them, and he realized he couldn't remember her name, though she'd told him.

She was still sleeping when he crept out of bed and pulled his pants on, and didn't move when he closed the door behind him.

******

"You can't wash that off," River said to him when he stumbled into his quarters.

He gave her a look and hurried to look in the mirror. His clothes were wrinkled, and he had a few smudges of lipstick along his jawline. He quickly rubbed them off. "I'm going to shower," he told River.

"It won't help," she replied.

******

She found him sitting in the open door of the ship late that night, staring into the black sky. They'd managed to avoid each other most of the day, but they couldn't put it off forever.

"I heard I might find you here," she said as she sat down next to him.

"You heard correctly."

"About what happened yesterday," she began tentatively. "I didn't mean...."

He waved it off. The intervening hours had dulled the sting; made him numb, at least for a while. "It's all right," he reassured her gently. "I shouldn't have expected...."

"But it wasn't wrong of you," she corrected him. "I led you to believe...."

"I believed because I wanted to."

"Yeah, me, too," she said quietly.

He looked at her with curiosity. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Simon, you are really, really good."

He couldn't help feeling a wan twinge of amusement. "In what way?"

She colored faintly at his meaning. "In every way. You're too good, too honorable, and it's what I admire so much about you."

"But it's what I admire about _you_," he said.

"But I'm not good like you, and it's too late for me to try." She shook her head. "If you only knew some of the things I've... in the past...." She paused. "You scared me, and I reacted."

An ache crept into his heart as his mind conjured a picture of wild red hair and a dingy bedroom. "You shouldn't be scared of me," he said, a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "We all make mistakes."

To his surprise, Inara looked at him with kindness. "Simon, I know about last night," she said, and his heart leaped strangely. A chance at freedom, perhaps, in the truth. "River told me."

"She did?"

"Simon, if getting drunk is the worst you can do....then you have a long way to go before you can ever approach the things I've done."

He faltered. "Is that what she told you?"

"Yes. It's nothing to be ashamed of. We've all had those moments. If anything, it only makes you more human. That's not such a bad thing."

"Inara," he began, but then stopped himself. What good would it do to tell Inara what had really happened? It wouldn't change her feelings about him, and they couldn't change who they were, or what had happened. What was there to gain? Perhaps it was better to let things remain as they were. She, at least, could still believe.

"Yes?" Inara asked, her eyes searching his.

"Nothing," he replied. "I just wanted you to know we're still friends. If that's okay with you." He picked up her hand and gave it a squeeze.

She smiled, touched. "You really are too good. Thank you for understanding."

"Always," he said, and he turned his attention again to the night as she laid her head on his shoulder.


End file.
